


my sweetest downfall / i loved you first

by knightlysoulsnatcher



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Dai Bendu (Star Wars), Force Bond, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Implied Consent, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightsisters (Star Wars), Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Oral Sex, Pre-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, no-noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlysoulsnatcher/pseuds/knightlysoulsnatcher
Summary: Following Grevious' slaughtering of the Nightsisters, Mother Talzin swears revenge and sends for Obi-Wan and Anakin, claiming she has information about Darth Sideous. Anakin and Obi-Wan, battle-weary, must confront her accusations and her grim visions of the future alongside the tensions between them. Obi-Wan knows Anakin's been keeping secrets—but he will have to confront his own feelings about his former padawan if he is to keep a level head and be willing to meet Anakin's issues with honesty and care.OR: Anakin makes better choices, and the boys talk things out.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 186





	1. there are no words in the english language / i could scream to drown you out

**Author's Note:**

> In which my love for the nightsisters meets my thirst for obikin content and A TIMELINE WHERE ANAKIN DOESNT RUIN EVERYTHING AND BREAK OUR HEARTS 
> 
> also on tumblr as knightlysoulsnatcher as my main blog and knightnightwrites as my writing blog

The chancellor has been kidnapped, and Anakin-and-Obi-Wan are not the ones sent to rescue him. They will travel elsewhere, instead. Yoda relays this information briefly; tiredness is in every detail of his facial expression, voice, and yet—Obi-Wan breathes a little easier after Yoda departs.

Upon receiving this news, Anakin immediately returns to the cockpit, expression pinched, while Obi-Wan lingers in the hallway before retreating further.

In the privacy of this ship’s singular personal chambers—Obi-Wan sighs, relieved. Among his friends, he might feel comfortable to think this, though there’s not much that could make him verbalize his reservations—the seriousness of the chancellor’s kidnapping cannot be overlooked, but to have the focus shift off of him and Anakin is a precious gift. One he cannot help but be thankful for.

He slows his breathing and releases this feeling into the Force. What’s been done has been done. Now, it is time to focus on the present.

And yet—Obi-Wan cannot shake his concern for his former padawan. It’s just that—Anakin isn’t sulking. Anakin isn’t sulking, and it’s another thing Obi-Wan is baffled about, though they only just received the news. Usually, the chancellor is someone he cares enough about that he’d throw himself into the rescue mission—regardless of whether the council assigned them the duty. Why doesn’t he feel—why is Anakin so steady, so driven and yet, somehow incredibly, deeply still, his presence curling peacefully against Obi-Wan’s in their bond.

Yes, if he examines Anakin closer through the bond, there is the pin-prick buzz of agitation and annoyance, but it is manageable. It is not unlike his usual state of irritation.

Obi-Wan frowns and allows himself another moment alone in his chambers before their departure. For an entirely different mission than he anticipated. Yoda thought it was pertinent to Anakin and Obi-Wan that he sensed dark remnants on Dathomir, traces of the Dark Side previously distinctly different. That they should be sent there, not after the chancellor, not after Ahsoka—well.

The dark side of the Force being prevalent there immediately made Obi-Wan wary for Anakin’s sake; however, he wondered whether they might have beneficial information for him. And, the last time they visited the planet, it hadn’t seemed to be an issue. All Yoda said was that they needed the Chosen One, Mother Talzin’s use of Anakin’s unofficial title making Obi-Wan frown. 

He sensed something different about Yoda, during their conversation. Not drastically different, not even terribly out of the ordinary—but Obi-Wan hadn’t felt the shade of reservation he’d received in years.

He’s used to Yoda keeping secrets, of course, but he’s not used to feeling overtly concerned about it. Quietly, Obi-Wan centers himself as best he can and releases what unhelpful emotions remain into the Force. Whatever they need, whatever they try to do, he will keep himself focused.

If the Grandmaster feels this is the right mission for them, Obi-Wan will trust his judgment.

Above all, he wants—he must keep Anakin safe. And, despite being concerned about Dathomir, Obi-Wan knows with deep, grim certainty that this is probably one of their safer missions of late.

Anakin’s footsteps interrupt the silence, followed by—“Master?”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replies _. I’m here, dear one_.

Muffled by the door, Anakin’s voice holds his typical concern. “Worried?”

Obi-Wan blinks. He’s standing now, in front of the closed door. So close, his forehead nearly touches the barrier between them. The question makes him wary; not that Anakin doesn’t care, but it’s unlike him to be so calm—so focused on Obi-Wan’s feelings rather than his own.

“Never, dear one. Are you?”

The door opens. Anakin’s brows are furrowed but soften somewhat as his master draws near. Anakin’s gaze, always intense, assesses Obi-Wan. “I am concerned,” Anakin admits.

“I know the Chancellor is your friend.”

Anakin looks away. “Yes. I don’t understand why we aren’t rescuing him.”

Obi-Wan enters the hallway, door closing behind him. He puts his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and tries to soothe Anakin’s ruffled force signature. “The Council has its reasons, I’m sure. There are other Jedi up to the task.”

Here—now Anakin’s features are pinched with agitation. Obi-Wan finds himself both relieved and agitated by Anakin’s familiar distaste.

And yet, there’s a guilty glint in Anakin’s eyes. They’re both so tired; Obi-Wan recognizes the way Anakin’s shoulders are slumped slightly, how the agitation in his features lacks his usual vibrant call to action.

“Do you feel it, Master?” _It feels so…_

Obi-Wan nods.

There is a brief period of silence; it feels as though the conversation is fading. Anakin has retreated from him more and more lately, so subtle and careful that Obi-Wan’s hackles rise swiftly. Anakin treating him with the same delicate touch given to his machines, rather than relying upon him like the friends they are… Anakin, pulling away from Obi-Wan like it was effortless.

_Don’t—don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s wrong_.

Anakin blinks, and Obi-Wan realizes too late that his wayward thought escapes the careful shields he’s placed around his mind, sneaking into the bond. Knows he’s made an uncharacteristic mistake when Anakin sends worry-fondness-shame-adoration-annoyance along their bond, Anakin’s jumbled mess both jarring and soothing, familiar and unfamiliar.

Only Anakin could make him more and less guarded simultaneously.

_Obi-Wan_ … _It’s—I’m—_

Obi-Wan’s gaze is now carefully fixated on the walls. He cannot force Anakin’s vulnerability; it remains something he craves nonetheless, and he finds himself, when he is not careful, considering the ways he might indirectly coax Anakin into his fully unfettered self.

He is better than that, though. Obi-Wan knows well that he is not all-powerful. Even if he were, he could never yearn Anakin into openness, no matter how well they knew each other.

Still. _You know you can always confide in me._

_I know._ This response drips with frustration, yet, this time, Anakin seems to be flattered by Obi-Wan’s attention. _And you in me._

Obi-Wan knows he’s pushed his luck and must tread lightly. He sneaks a peek at Anakin and finds himself ensnared by his bright blue gaze. _The Force speaks to you in ways it will not with me._

_Then trust me. Trust that I will confide in you when I must._

It isn’t enough. Shame fills him, and yet, it remains insufficient. Time and time again, Anakin claims openness without following through. Obi-Wan still hasn’t figured out whether his feelings about this recalcitrance are tainted by his affection, or whether he is rightfully, professionally upset with Anakin’s unhealthy avoidance and inability to rely upon others.

If Anakin cannot and will not rely on Obi-Wan…

“I trust you Anakin. With my life.”

Anakin smirks. (Obi-Wan’s chest is warm and tight.) “Would you trust me with your lightsaber?”

“I trust that, were it to fall into your hands, it might never see mine again,” Obi-Wan replies. The familiar teasing eases both men as Obi-Wan brushes past Anakin. His hand comes to rest upon Anakin’s right shoulder. He focuses on the feeling of Anakin beneath his palm. Runs his hand down his arm, to tangle their fingers together. Pulls away a moment later to return to the cockpit, Anakin close behind.

Prior to this mission, Anakin fell into well-worn stress and adrenaline. There was little time to stand side-by-side for an indulgent moment like this. Obi-Wan hopes that Dathomir does not prove a waste of their time.

“You have questions about this, Obi-Wan?”

The delayed response to the mission intrigues him. “Surrounding Dathomir, and the witches, yes. I’ve been curious about their mystical scholarship, but I’ve never had an opportunity to observe it unhurried.”

“There’s much that can be learned through fighting.”

Obi-Wan grins over his shoulder at his old Padawan. “Is that where all your learning comes from? Can’t say I’m terribly surprised.”

“I learned from the best.”

They spend the rest of the journey in silence, Obi-Wan focusing on the details of the assignment. Centering himself and calming his breathing, Obi-Wan enters the ship’s piloting area and finds that Anakin already set the ship’s course for Dathomir.

Anakin prepares their vessel for the journey, focusing on examining the ship’s exterior and interior. Relaxing himself, copying Obi-Wan’s ritual. It is always easier to calm himself and release his emotions into the Force with Obi-Wan around.

A mutual relaxing occurs when they spend the last portion of the journey sitting side-by-side at the controls.

“You ready?”

“As ever.” Obi-Wan stares at Anakin.

Anakin stares back.

Obi-Wan reaches out, lays a hand on Anakin’s cheek, the lower portion of his hand against his jaw. Anakin nuzzles into Obi-Wan’s touch. As always, it is Obi-Wan’s touch that gives Anakin a sense of peace and stability. “You don’t seem entirely at ease,” Anakin comments.

Obi-Wan lets himself be briefly distracted by feeling and hearing Anakin’s words. He pulls his hand away. “I sense a disturbance. I worry something isn’t right.”

Anakin nods and leans forward, closer to Obi-Wan. If Anakin thinks past his own disquiet, which is quite difficult, he thinks he can sense the same malignant force.

“We will find it, and we will take care of it. That is what we’re best at.”

As he hopes, Anakin elicits a grin from Obi-Wan. “With _patience_ , we certainly achieve this. Will you be patient for me, my old Padawan?”

Anakin smirks. “Anything for you, my old Master.”

~

Moving into Dathomir’s atmosphere has the feeling of loss intensified—Obi-Wan forgets to breathe momentarily.

The Force here doesn’t just feel dark, it feels like a ragged, gaping hole, an angry, gnawing emptiness. The familiar red haze and swamp murkiness obscures much, though it cannot blot away the corpses that litter the ground.

Battle droids. Nightsister corpses, some more decayed than others.

When they land, neither of them rises immediately. Obi-Wan can sense Anakin’s discomfort. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wonders how much Anakin senses, how much more he must always feel through his amplified Force connection.

They both say each other’s name at the same time. As can be expected, Anakin barrels on while Obi-Wan lets himself wait until after he asks his question.

“Are you okay?”

“Can you feel it?”

Anakin nods. “Something awful happened here.”

“The question is, why didn’t we hear about this? How did we not know something happened here?”

Anakin rises from his seat and offers his flesh hand. “Let’s go find out.”

Obi-Wan takes it and stands beside him. “Thank you, dear.”

Anakin manages a fond grin, then leads the way out of the cockpit.

A hazy life form stands before them as their feet touch the ground, their figure dramatically sorrowful, the only distinct living organism around aside from the large, looming trees. Fog and the unmistakable remnants of a massacre mere blurs compared to the figure’s harsh singularity.

“You two soon shall see your own kind murdered like this, if you do not take heed,” the figure says, their female voice interrupting their startled gazing.

The two Jedi step closer to and focus on the woman before them. Breathless with the sense of loss, Obi-Wan cannot imagine experiencing this sorrow for himself, his people.

“You know,” Mother Talzin indulgently continues, “legend has it that our First Mother was Allya, a former Jedi. I am not without my own compassion for the Jedi, as I am not without my own compassion for the Sith.”

It takes much of Obi-Wan’s willpower to maintain composure. The amount of suffering he feels in the Force, the massive remnants of slaughtered Nightsisters has his skin tight, something cold burning bone-deep. Lingering here feels disrespectful and discomforting.

This voiceless suffering ought to have prepared him for the sight of the coven’s leader. The only survivor, save Ventress, burns with a frigid rage that clashes with the clear exhaustion in the way she holds herself. Her robes look unaltered, but she carries the air of dishevelment through the coven’s absence. Her voice holds the same weight and power, but its solitary echo holds its own sorrow. What wisdom she has to give, she does so herself with no other audience save the Jedi, no sisters escorting her visitors.

“What happened here?”

“General Grievous. On behalf of Darth Sidious. They slaughtered us,” Mother Talzin replies. “I have cleared away the wreckage as best I can, though I must conceal myself from their attention.”

“They—Darth Sidious believes you dead?” _Then why bring us here_ , Obi-Wan wonders. _What is it she wants from Anakin_?

“I have hidden myself as best I could and escaped not without significant injury. We fought and were not strong enough. No Sith nor Separatist returned for our relics.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze darts past her, until he feels—Anakin goes for his lightsaber. “Why are we here?”

Mother Talzin’s expression tightens. “The Sith have betrayed my trust and slaughtered my coven. They have broken their accord—the Jedi, however, have not harmed us. I am the last, but I am not without my power, or my knowledge. I will be heard.”

Obi-Wan gently places his hand on Anakin’s arm. “We will listen,” he says.

Anakin wordlessly agrees, placing his lightsaber back on his belt. Wariness bleeds through their bond from both men. Anakin crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What do you know?”

Mother Talzin takes a deep breath. “I know of the Sith you seek, and of what will come, if you do not heed my warning.” She pauses, and the Jedi do not press her—though she can sense their apprehension, the Chosen One’s emotions looming large and bright. (It is hard to look at him but look she will.) “Darth Sidious has been manipulating the Republic and the Separatists, and he has hidden in plain sight as Chancellor Palpatine.”

“You can’t accuse Chancellor Palpatine without evidence,” Anakin interrupts, voice tight with anger, his arms now uncrossed, fists clenched at his sides. “Why would you assume he’s a Sith?”

“I would be wise to know the Sith lord who stole my son from me—Darth Maul, the man I believe you,” here, she motions to Obi-Wan, “dismembered. Darth Sidious, Palpatine, has betrayed my trust on more than one occasion. He is the Sith who will betray you.”

Yet—Obi-Wan remembers well Count Dooku’s warnings. A dark lord of the Sith, controlling the Republic. Darth Sidious, influencing the senators— _the truth_ , Count Dooku called it. But it hadn’t felt right, when Obi-Wan relayed the Council his message.

Obi-Wan cannot look away from Mother Talzin. He shares in Anakin’s incredulity, but her words do not elicit the same blazing rage; the knowledge uncomfortable but not entirely unbelievable, and he—he realizes Yoda likely knows—Mother Talzin must have warned him, too. Likely, he kept them away from the chancellor’s rescue mission for a reason—kept Anakin far from his influence.

His _influence_ , oh Force. Obi-Wan nearly retches. All those years, those private meetings with Anakin.

First Count Dooku, now Mother Talzin; two shadow-figures, twins in their accusations. The force, however, feels different surrounding their words. Obi-Wan is well acquainted with the truth, and all the ways one can truthfully believe falsehoods, or falsely assert distortions of the truth. How likely is it that Palpatine is this dark lord?

Obi-Wan inhales slowly, deeply. Clings to stability, acknowledging while avoiding relying upon his emotions. It is an unfortunate blessing that the war, and the deaths of loved ones, have given him ample practice.

“Chosen One,” Mother Talzin interrupts, her gaze on Anakin. “Use your judgment and search your feelings.”

Anakin bares his teeth. “Lies!”

His rage wrenches Obi-Wan’s attempts at self-control. The intensity feels familiar, akin to an old echo he’d felt from Anakin while investigating Jango Fett on Geonosis, years ago. Nausea rises swiftly.

Her eyes gleam as her voice deepens, an anger emanating from her that is cold and certain. “I have seen what he will do to you—what lies he whispers in your senses, what promises he makes. He will promise you power over death, and you will slaughter your younglings in exchange for the illusion of power over death. You will force Obi-Wan to duel you, and he will win—your body mutilated. You will be renamed Darth Vader, and you will lose everything you hold dear if you choose to ignore my words.”

“I would never betray the Jedi, or my Master!”

“As you would never slaughter out of rage?”

Anakin falls deathly silent. Cold, achingly cold, dread and fear and anger and—guilt—Anakin’s emotions throbbing through their bond like an angry wound.

(The truth of the matter is this: this is not the first time Obi-Wan has felt Anakin like this. The truth of the matter is that this cold, slick fearful rage and grief-guilt throbbed while he was on Geonosis, just before the war. It has lingered ever since, flaring up and dwindling down to whispers and ash.)

Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan’s going to be sick. He recalls feeling echoes of Anakin’s rage, pain, sorrow; he recalls the numerous times where he has felt his padawan slip. He feels himself bending down, retching emptily, all dry-heaves and strings of stale saliva. He cannot—he cannot.

The potential for Anakin to fall, to forsake him. To take on a new master. (He wouldn’t. _He wouldn’t._ This is Anakin, his Anakin. His former padawan. Anakin who frees slaves and memorizes the names and distinctions of each clone he meets. _Anakin._ ) Pictures Anakin clothed in robes of sorrow and love, remembers Anakin’s adoration for his mother, for Padme. His arrogance and desperate need for control. How long has he braced himself for Anakin’s departure from him, from the Order?

( _Have faith_ , Mace Windu reminded him, _that your padawan will make the right choices_.)

Anakin’s arm on his back, the concern he feels for Obi-Wan dwarfing his anger-guilt-confusion, this softness wars with Obi-Wan’s frustration, his anxiety, and his dread. The touch does not bring its usual comfort.

Still, it is Anakin’s touch, warm. “Anakin will not fall to the dark side,” Obi-Wan replies, tilting his head up to return her stare. “He has never let me down. There is no one I’d rather have by my side, no one I trust more.”

Mother Talzin might be wrong about Palpatine, but her implicit accusation of Anakin’s rage-fueled violence and his guilty silence— _what has Anakin been hiding from him?_

( _Have faith_.)

“This is the future I have foreseen—the future you can still create.”

“She’s lying,” Anakin weakly retorts—his words aimless. Obi-Wan has never been more aware of the Force in his life, nor in the way he can sense her truthfulness (in the very least, her firm belief in her own words), for all that his heart breaks—for himself, for Anakin, for the galaxy—he searches himself.

“The Spirits do not lie. Nor does your fear, young one. Your guilt hangs thick—I can sense it, mingling with the remnants of my clan. Delusion does not suit the Chosen One.”

Her words hold enough wisdom to turn his skin cold; Anakin flees from critical self-examination, this Obi-Wan knows well. He also knows Anakin seeks control over that which he cannot, that he loves with a fierce possession that leaves Obi-Wan uneasy. He knows, too, that her words must be investigated.

_I must tell Yoda_ , Obi-Wan thinks in the midst of his internal chaos. _Even if she already informed him, I must hear his words._

“You have foreseen yourself falling, the possible future—Chosen One, you have been warned before. You are being warned a second time. I have done what I must. The knowledge is yours to do with as you will. The people you underestimate the most are the ones who will be your downfall.”

Obi-Wan wipes his mouth and stands up again. His eyes—his gaze attempts sharpness, yet the truth has dulled them. “What do you gain from sharing your glimpse of the future?”

Mother Talzin meets his stare directly. “The Sith betrayed me; my coven will not be safe with a Sith presiding over the Republic. I have little hope of rebuilding with a Sith presiding over a Galactic Empire.”

Anakin nearly snarls. “You believe her, that it’s Palpatine?”

Obi-Wan glances at Anakin’s enraged features. “I will not take her words lightly, not when she is speaking from a place of truthfulness.”

“You always said seeking to change the future leads to the dark side.”

“Is that so? It seems as though you only listen to my advice when it suits you, then, Anakin,” Obi-Wan chastises.

Now is not the time to argue.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “Mother, is there anything else you need to tell us?”

“I have said all that I needed. Jedi—do not forsake my insight. I may not be a member of your Order, but my knowledge will not be dismissed without consequences.”

Her figure flickers, then fades. Anakin is the sole living focus of his attention, now, and Obi-Wan isn’t ready.

Predictably, Anakin raises his voice only to fall into quiet sulking. Anakin doesn’t get past an indignant _Obi-Wan!_ before silencing himself. He is an emotional whirlwind in the Force, anger and dread and horror mixing with disbelief.

Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose. “We should get back to the ship; it would not be wise to linger here.” The stillness of death and the dark side further agitates his discomfort. It is too distracting and counterintuitive to the clear mind he needs for this moment.

Anakin huffs and stalks ahead, just enough that he is easily seen.

Obi-Wan follows him at a brisk pace; this is not difficult to do when Anakin refuses to fully flee him. “Anakin, you know I have no inclination for changing the future. However, we cannot ignore her insight. Such accusations are not made lightly.”

“She can’t be right. I would’ve sensed it, Obi-Wan! _I_ would know if Palpatine was a Sith!”

Obi-Wan sighs heavily. “ _Would_ you?”

Anakin stops, turns, and frowns. “I… I cannot believe that someone who has only ever been kind to me is a Sith lord. He has only ever had the best intentions. Who would I be, if I betrayed his trust?” His head is tilted down, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Obi-Wan pauses. There is an age-old urge to grab Anakin by the shoulders and shake him, grab him and pull him close.

For all his frustration, Obi-Wan finds part of himself deeply sorrowful. Anakin’s single-minded focus on providing for those he loves is so simple and yet all-consuming. The complexities of politicians never seemed to enter Anakin’s perception of reality—not for his master’s lack of trying. Obi-Wan often finds himself at a loss for this part of Anakin, being on one hand empathetic and on the other confounded. How did Anakin not consider the complicated webs of desire and self-interest—especially for so powerful a figure as the Chancellor?

(Obi-Wan always is aware that, very rarely, non-Jedi care for him because he serves a purpose first and foremost.)

“Master,” Anakin begins, and his tone draws Obi-Wan’s full focus.

He looks into his former padawan’s gaze, so serious and so exhausted. “Mother Talzin said to search my feelings—for us to search our feelings,” he trailed off.

_Do you trust me—_ Obi-Wan asks. He temporarily masks his turbulent feelings through their bond and steadies himself.

Anakin’s answer is relief and the starchy tension of a breath carefully held. _With everything I am._

_Would you tell me,_ Obi-Wan steps closer, putting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, _what your feelings tell you?_

Anakin’s shoulder relaxes under the weight of his hand. They feel a short burst of mutual relief, Anakin by the question, and Obi-Wan by Anakin’s wave of trust. _My feelings tell me that Palpatine has never asked, or expected, me to be a perfect Jedi._ Anakin feels as small as he felt all those years ago, smiling at Obi-Wan and shaking his hand. Anakin, young and troubled by the coldness of space travel. _My feelings also tell me that what Mother Talzin says is possible._

Anakin, afraid that he has been betrayed by someone he trusts. Anakin, the calm sorrow before the flash of anger and the bite of his blade.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. Steps just a shade closer. He allows Anakin to feel his multi-faceted suspicion and wariness, the faint acidic sting of bile. _I do not like the thought of one of your friends being a powerful Sith lord,_ he admits, _and I know that it makes more sense than it should. I do not like thinking that a powerful man you have frequently been alone with is the same enemy haunting our steps._

Anakin’s own feelings seep into Obi-Wan’s skin, a mirroring of his dread, though a deep ache of guilt makes Obi-Wan’s chest tight. He can no longer tell whether the residual nausea is his or Anakin’s.

_Obi-Wan…_ Anakin shudders beneath his hand. “Obi-Wan. He… I confided in him.”

Obi-Wan shouldn’t be surprised, but still something in him sinks. A thread of insistent jealousy, the chancellor receiving Anakin’s anxieties, when it was Obi-Wan who shared a force bond with him, Obi-Wan who poured himself into helping him be the best Jedi he could be.

(And yet, there is also a sense of rising dread; the Chancellor, whoever he was beyond his political office, knows things Obi-Wan doesn’t. Things that are hardly trivial—Obi-Wan finds himself teetering on the edge of wrathful sorrow. He must pull himself away, focus elsewhere. Anakin’s secrets—Obi-Wan cannot focus on them, not now when he knows he hasn’t had the time necessary to release these reawakened feelings into the Force.) 

Honesty goes a long way with Anakin. As does Obi-Wan acknowledging uncharacteristic inarticulacy and emotions. “I don’t know what to say. Did you compromise anyone?”

_Just myself,_ Anakin’s self-deprecating rage skulks through the bond.

Obi-Wan’s head throbs.

“Do you think Mother Talzin told Yoda, too,” Anakin asks aloud.

“I think it is possible, though I wonder whether it would be safe to transmit her accusation—if she is right, I cannot imagine that Sidious wouldn’t monitor our communications. Yoda must know something, and he must be keeping us away on purpose.”

“You mean, keeping _me_ away on purpose.”

“We are allowed to be concerned for your safety, Anakin. Believe it or not, the Council wants what is best for you, for _us_.”

Anakin scoffs but doesn’t press further.

Obi-Wan clears his throat. He wants Anakin to trust him and open up, but he knows that it is only something Anakin must choose to do. He could, however, encourage confidence—Anakin always pays closer attention to Obi-Wan when Obi-Wan addresses his own emotions, brings them to the forefront.

He has done far too much of that already, though; he cannot will Anakin into speaking, even if he used every tactic possible. Absently, he finds himself exasperated. Anakin might as well be a black hole for all that Obi-Wan has given him today.

“I’m going back to the ship,” Obi-Wan says, patting his shoulder once before pulling away. “I will meditate on this and wait for Yoda to contact us. If he doesn’t soon, I will reach out to him.”

Anakin nods. Hesitates. He’s still a whirlwind of emotions, a directionless tornado; the distance between them and Palpatine stunting a clear path forward.

“They will not do anything without investigating thoroughly.”

“I know,” Anakin replies. Takes a deep breath. “I’ll walk with you.”

Obi-Wan turns and motions over his shoulder towards the ship. The familiar gesture eases the tension between the two, though Anakin remains just behind his master, not quite walking side-by-side.

The fog and the deep, rust-maroon colors of the daylight couple almost eerily well with the corpses strewn everywhere. Grief and anger fill the air as naturally as the fog—even in death, the Nightsisters are hostile to their presence.

It is therefore quite difficult for them both to concentrate on anything but the past and prophesied slaughtering. They move in tandem, twins in their deep, wordless silence.

Discomfort laps at the edges of a shoreline just out of reach. Obi-Wan feels there is something on the tip of his tongue—

The feeling is articulated in his head as Anakin says it aloud— “We’ve been walking for too long.”

_The ship_ , Obi-Wan thinks at Anakin, _is gone_.


	2. i need you near me / i think i've been fooled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much did not intend for such a long gap between chapters, but I live in the states and life has been, on a general large scale, absolute banthashit. 
> 
> Chapter title taken from the vampire waltz by hannah fury, a truly rockin song on its own but also really sad if you think about it being Anakin talking about Palpatine tricking him and missing his Obi

The few trees that stand around them offer little cover. Obi-Wan finds himself wanting to move out of the open, get out of this moment of aborted movement.

He—and Anakin—are all too aware that they now have nowhere to go. It reflects in the way Anakin moves only his fingers, carefully fiddling with his lightsaber. The action would hint at further movement, were his feet not firmly planted, his body facing Obi-Wan.

_It has to be here somewhere_ , Anakin replies. _Obi-Wan, what do we do?_

_Anakin, why do I always have to be the one with a plan?_ Obi-Wan, unlike Anakin, has taken to stillness characteristically well, merely sinking into a peaceful if not statuesque stance. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan purposefully allows himself a moment of rest and reliance upon his former padawan.

_Right,_ Anakin replies, digging up a carefully lighthearted smirk. Obi-Wan can feel his relief at a distraction and cocky smugness like a physical presence. _I’ll keep us safe. Don’t worry, master._

_Who said I was worried—your improvised plans usually leave us in one piece._ A warm pause, definitely long enough for composing a plan, should Anakin take the initiative. _Well, dear one? What do we do?_

_There’s not shelter this way for miles, unless we want to find the males’ settlement. We could stay here, go forward, or go back to the Nightsisters’ fortress._

“It would be rather rude to crash either compound.”

Anakin snorts. “Rude to what? The dead?”

“Desecrating the Nightsisters’ fortress is hardly wise.”

Anakin looks over at Obi-Wan, hands on his hips. Obi-Wan crosses his own arms, tilting his head playfully. Though the force feels heavy with grief and the remains of the dead, they can both feel the low levels of life forms remaining on the planet. There’s enough to make them aware that they are not alone; they are both, however, used to much more immediate danger. The urge to relax seeps into every inch of Obi-Wan’s body. Even his hands are exhausted.

“We ought to seek shelter once night falls,” Obi-Wan continues to muse aloud. Closer to the Nightsisters’ fortress lies dense swamp-lands, uncomfortable for camping but enough prospects for adequate food.

Anakin sighs. “There’s no natural shelter, Obi-Wan. We make it ourselves, or we go into the fortress.”

“It is not wise to desecrate the fortress, Anakin,” he repeats.

Despite his words, Obi-Wan finds himself and Anakin turning around.

“Master, we might as well,” Anakin replies. “It would benefit us to use the resources available.”

They make the first move together, walking back in the direction of the fortress. It isn’t to say that Obi-Wan has changed his mind, but he also hasn’t… not changed it. He feels the force cajoling them forward, yes, but he’s in his right mind, too.

It doesn’t feel entirely wrong. Obi-Wan sneaks a look at Anakin.

He ought to be used to the force doing weird things around them. Anakin was clearly the force’s beloved child—many times, Obi-Wan could nearly see it curling around his padawan. It does so now, curling with a foreign warmth Obi-Wan can’t easily interpret.

Well. He _is_ curious about what lingers in their abode, what wisdom about the Force might live, even in such a place. He remembers well the sophistication beyond the blood-red skies and boney trees, the skillful vibrancy in the force of the coven, even now. The dead feel suspended in a moderated in-between, definitely dead—yet somehow still tethered to the achingly living present. Somehow, the Nightsisters are still paying attention.

“We must be careful. We do not know what traps we may encounter.”

These words are redundant, yet Anakin does not swipe the low-hanging fruit, responding only with a respectful, agreeing nod.

Obi-Wan manages to look away from his former padawan. Shining so bright in the force, it is no wonder Anakin feels drawn to the fortress; however, they will not know whether such prodding ends in life or death.

Anakin will not die. Obi-Wan—well, he knows with bone-deep certainty that he will die fighting with Anakin alongside him. He could die yet, but Anakin—Anakin won’t. Anakin will surpass him in all things.

(But what a way to go, fighting alongside Anakin. Obi-Wan’s long been comfortable with the knowledge that he will die, but there’s something too indulgent and kind that he will die beside Anakin. A blessing, a good death, when death should be neutral.)

“Obi-Wan?”

The Jedi Master frowns. “Don’t worry about me, young one.”

Anakin huffs. “I’m not _worried_ … merely concerned. You hardly fought me at all about seeking shelter at their fortress.”

“What can I say? I know how futile it is to try and alter a Skywalker plan.”

Anakin snorts. “You always try anyways.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. “Perhaps I’ve finally seen that you are incorrigible, that fighting your plan is a waste of my efforts.”

Anakin’s voice strains in heartfelt earnestness. “I only wish to protect you, Master.”

Isn’t _that_ an issue, Obi-Wan privately thinks, that they both are so preoccupied with the others’ safety. There’s a pause, then the moment to speak slips away. Anakin has enough on his mind. Some things Obi-Wan would rather keep private. It is not always difficult to decide which things ought to be buried, but there remains a secret hope tucked away beside the other unmentionables, a secret hope that Anakin would someday discover them.

No. No. Besides. The dead—they get louder and louder with each step forward. He feels them stirring and swirling amongst the dust. Their attention presses beyond the sensation of hidden eyes, their emerging voices rough and overlapping.

Obi-Wan considers pausing and listening. He’s sure he could make out the whispers, if he only listened a little harder.

“Don’t listen,” Anakin whispers, mouth brushing Obi-Wan’s ear.

Obi-Wan inhales. Anakin’s hand slides down from his shoulder to rest on the small of his back, pressing him forward. Their steps are light and quick, brushing the boundaries of a sprint.

“Focus on me.”

“Can you hear them?”

He senses Anakin shake his head. “Not as much. I don’t think they want to talk to me like they want to talk to you.”

There is a curiosity between the Jedi as they press forward. They both want to know what the voices are saying; Obi-Wan thinks if he just pays a bit more attention, he could make it out.

Anakin grunts and pushes Obi-Wan a little harder forward. The curiosity passes back and forth through their bond, as does Anakin’s concern. Obi-Wan is, not for the first time, at a loss; what comfort he could muster feels clouded.

Sooner than they expect, the Nightsisters’ compound looms ahead. The voices neither grow stronger nor soften, yet there seems to be no strong opposition to them entering their sacred place.

At the very least, Obi-Wan might be able to satisfy his personal curiosity; knowledge of some kind would surely remain, perhaps containing information surpassing his cursory research. The slaughter around him feels familiar; he can sense the traces of General Grievous. Even if his superiors ordered otherwise, General Grievous probably wouldn’t bother doing more than mindless slaughter. Unlike other Separatists or Sith lords, his heavy hand likely left the temple intellectually unblemished.

The fortress’ imposing stone walls offer some small comfort, the reserved offerings of sanctuary almost kind without their ship’s unhelpful disappearance. The large, feminine face and extended mouth decorating the smooth stone above the countless witches acting as pillars and supporting the building beckons them forward. The symbolism compels Obi-Wan, as it has in his previous visits. He admires the ominous shades of red, the shared burden of the witch-pillars. Sisterhood, literally and metaphorically, fortifies them. It is a comforting sense of community he finds amongst most Force-users; that it is here, in a place where once existed swathes of Darksiders, makes Obi-Wan want to pause and analyze.

He can almost hear Mother Talzin’s voice above the rest, beckoning them inside. Their home, carved into the base of a mountain, feels like a clean yet natural extension of the planet, as though Dathomir itself birthed the Nightsisters.

It would be clean-crisp, save for the few broken pillars littering the ground, crushed droids and Nightsisters peeking from underneath the impassive, displaced stone. Whispers hiss between displaced dust and droid bits.

“Anakin, be careful,” Obi-Wan reminds as his former padawan herds him away from the corpses strewn about the fortress’ exterior. “It’s too convenient, that we seek shelter here.”

“Better here than out there. At the least, you might find helpful resources.”

They pause just underneath the large Nightsister’s face. Just a second, then Obi-Wan moves forward. Anakin grunts in mild annoyance but follows. It is easier than he expects to enter and appraise—though obvious damage and numerous corpses litter the floors, there still remains the familiar sensation of humid warmth, the clinging hug of a lapsed mother.

The stone witches towering over the corpses and the two Jedi are impassive as they move deeper into the sacred dwelling space. Their stone faces hold many different features, so alike and yet so different; Obi-Wan can sense the different energies of each figure, as though the most minute details on their faces contain remnants of the witches’ original energy.

The planet’s eerie red fog seeps away as they near the edge of the pillars. It is always a small shock to perceive the distant circular rock formations, grey-turquoise in the light of sickly green glowing orbs, the bright grey-blue of the waters adding a soft beauty. The village managed to share a strange coldness, even as hot humidity clung to his skin.

Here, the whispers are softer, difficult to pinpoint with Obi-Wan’s full attention.

From Anakin emits a pinprick pulse of pain; Obi-Wan turns and looks just as Anakin clutches his head, fingers messily shoved in his thick, errant curls.

“We shouldn’t’ve come,” Obi-Wan fusses, pressing the back of his hand to Anakin’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” 

Anakin shakes his head, then winces again. “We need to be here. We need answers.”

“I don’t think we will find the answers you look for, Anakin.” His voice is gentle as he steps closer, moving his hands up to Anakin’s. He tugs gently, hoping to alleviate pain.

Anakin ignores his touch and walks past. Mother Talzin’s words, however articulate and accurate, are not something Obi-Wan believes merits immediate research. Not, of course, because no research is necessary but because Anakin’s research, self-serving and self-soothing, is not the highest priority, or the most detached.

“Night will fall soon,” Obi-Wan reminds. “Best to find a secure resting place.”

The settlement draws closer, as though it crawls towards them, eager to search the Jedi.

Obi-Wan is relieved to see fewer Nightsister corpses the deeper they go, and almost no droid remnants. It does not surprise him that droids do not desecrate the interior, though he finds himself disturbed by the emptiness. Force echoes of sisterhood, the liveliness and vibrancy of their community, thick and inescapable as dust in abandoned libraries. The Dark side, too, lingers here, distinct and separate from the Darkness of Sith practitioners.

“Still think we should be here?”

Anakin inhales sharply. “We don’t have a choice now, do we?”

Obi-Wan walks past Anakin, not without a comforting touch to his shoulder; he chooses to pass through the more public areas of magiks partitioning and socializing, avoiding the private abodes, and makes his way to the semi-public building Mother Talzin previously summoned him. The spirits seem to appreciate his discretion, the Force feeling no less disturbed than before.

He resists the urge to look back at Anakin. _Do you want to split up, or would you like to follow me?_

_I’ll be right behind you, master._

Anakin’s headache bleeds into their bond, throbbing in time to Obi-Wan’s heartbeat. The sensation is not unlike ice pressed against his teeth, a muffled yet piercing irritation. As he continues forward, Obi-Wan slips the Force gently into their bond, wrapping the ache with healing tendrils of vibrant life and familiar affection.

The echoes of younger Nightsister voices, stronger the further inward he ventures, remind Obi-Wan of Anakin younger, fresh from Naboo and eager to please. Determined to be seen as stronger than he was—stronger, at least, than he needed to be. If injured, Obi-Wan could not cajole Anakin into immediate healing.

It was always much easier to use their bond, where Anakin was unfamiliar and unpracticed, to begin healing scrapes and bruises.

Now, Obi-Wan monitors himself differently, tries to keep himself appropriately affectionate, half-honest and half-vulnerable as he tends to Anakin’s wounds.

The entrance to the desired building looms close. Anakin’s hand brushes against Obi-Wan’s, comfort from Anakin bleeding back into Obi-Wan. Foolish fondness overwhelms Obi-Wan; it takes concentration to school his features into a smile that isn’t terribly love-struck.

Their eyes meet. _Ready_ , Anakin asks; _ready_ , Obi-Wan answers, and it has been too long since Obi-Wan felt out of synch with Anakin, because it is beyond unfathomable, in this moment, that they could have ever been completely separate people.

Obi-Wan is the first to look away.

The doors seem to require Force usage to open, something which Anakin enjoys a little too much. “Before you say anything, Master,” Anakin begins, “the door practically demanded Force usage.”

“Ah yes, as you often practically demanded my attention during your swimming lessons.”

Anakin flushes, bright red like a sunburn. He opens and closes his mouth. (In the background, his headache throbs.)

Obi-Wan lets him flounder for a moment before walking past the entrance. Here, the air is cool, holding humidity carefully inward, clinging to the ancient, smooth stone. There is a quiet insistence tugging the Jedi towards a room they once quickly visited, one which carries a heavy emptiness.

Where once sat Mother Talzin in a meeting room of sorts, accompanied by her crystal ball. Its orange light gleams eerily in the otherwise dim atmosphere.

“Mother Talzin’s crystal ball,” Obi-Wan observes aloud. “It carries her force signature strongly.”

“She made this; Obi-Wan, it’s like—”

“Alive, faintly. Not quite its own being, but not without life.”

The whispers condense into one command spoken by several voices: the ball is to be touched by Obi-Wan, needs his hands. _Touch, touch and you will see_ …

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin’s strong arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s torso and pull him away from the voices and the orange orb.

The voices pierce the air with a shriek as Anakin moves Obi-Wan backwards. Anakin’s wince is nearly as loud, his grip faltering as his headache nearly engulfs their bond in searing pain.

“Anakin, Anakin,” Obi-Wan shouts, “let me go!” If he just reaches further, if he can just get closer, and yes, as he struggles and moves forward, the shrieking softens minutely. If he can just stretch a little further, he thinks he feels Anakin’s headache quiet. “Can’t you see I’m doing this for you?”

Anakin’s voice is a hallucination or devoured by the Nightsister voices—rendered nearly irrelevant in Obi-Wan’s sudden desperation.

At last, his fingers brush the smooth orange surface, and all the world is black again. His eyes, whether closed or open, do not perceive a change in this gaping darkness.

_Hello little Jedi,_ a soft yet aged feminine voice interrupts. _Your beloved has such terrible dreams, such dreadful premonitions. A second set of eyes may muddy the waters, but two may stumble farther along than one._

There remains little time to think, much less respond, before the darkness shifts into the darkness of eyes closed against a quiet sunlight. From nowhere, Anakin’s voice erupts. Thick with tears and rage, it harkens upon memories of early Padawan frustrations—except this rendition of Anakin’s voice is older.

_“I am a Jedi,” Anakin weep-snarls. “I know I’m better than this.”_

The darkness shifts to a slightly clearer scene, filled with a rage and grief that Obi-Wan remembers feeling echoes of on Geonosis—here, the emotional turmoil is almost unbearable. His stomach turns as he sees flashes of light, Anakin’s lightsaber, the hum of its crystal nearly as familiar as his own.

Cries of Tusken Raiders rise and fall, the stench of cauterized flesh clogging the cold desert night air. It is too vivid, and Anakin’s blurred Force Signature too young, to be a mere dream, yet Obi-Wan feels as though he has interrupted one of his Padawan’s fever dreams.

As quickly as he was absorbed by the darkness, Obi-Wan plunges into the present, everything suddenly too still. Separate from any distinct thought or intention, Obi-Wan’s eyes find Anakin’s, wide and full of concern.

Obi-Wan’s stomach lurches. He has seen something he was not supposed to, and despite the revelation of Anakin’s past violence, he finds himself feeling sheepish regarding the nature of his discovery.

(He registers the dim ache of betrayal—of the Code, of Obi-Wan—the sudden complication, the way his heart weeps quietly. Hadn’t there been opportunities to talk about this? Hadn’t Obi-Wan made himself available?) 

“Obi-Wan? Are you okay?” Barely the length of a heartbeat passes before his voice, shaky: “Master?”

“I am… unharmed, Anakin.” His own head hurts from twin desires to divulge his findings or keep them unspoken for the moment. He would rather—well, he would rather be held by Anakin than deal with this treacherous discovery.

Obi-Wan clears his throat as Anakin awkwardly steps closer. His gloved hand reaches (has he projected this need? can Anakin sense this burning desire for comfort, for closeness?). Anakin’s eyes are pins pricking Obi-Wan’s chest in their relentless cataloguing.

“Do I look—”

“No,” Anakin fumbles, stepping one step forward, “no. Only—”

Obi-Wan presses himself back against the too-close wall. “What did I miss?”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrow together. “You—you flickered for a second, like a bad hologram, your eyes were—it was only a minute—when you were clear again, your hand wasn’t touching it anymore.”

Obi-Wan nods. “It looks like this room will not be good for rest.” Pushing himself off of the wall, he strides past Anakin, past the room’s entrance and into the hall. “We must rest. How is your headache?”

Anakin’s footsteps hastily follow Obi-Wan, and it really shouldn’t be a surprise that Anakin overtakes him. Perhaps sensing some subconscious weakness, Anakin capitalizes on Obi-Wan’s dishevelment to corner him against the hallway’s cool stone.

Anakin manages to be both a large, looming blockage and a considerate interruption. He presses close, just close enough that Obi-Wan feels his body heat; he has both hands pressed on the surface on either side of his former master, yet they are both aware that Obi-Wan could easily press free.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Obi-Wan steels himself and stares resolutely not at Anakin’s lips. His stomach reminds him that there are upsetting things he needs to process, while his hands twitch at the promise of immediate comfort. “I am hardly privy to your every thought and experience, Anakin.”

Anakin sharpens his gaze. “You’re hiding something.”

Obi-Wan tilts his chin upward and steps minutely forward. Their chests brush, their chins a hairbreadth apart.

“It is a Master’s job to know more than his Padawan.”

Anakin snorts angrily. Bull-ish. “We are equals, now, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Kark, Anakin, why won’t you let me just take care of you? Why do you have to fight me every step of the way?”

Now, Anakin’s properly glaring. “You expect me to ignore that you’re hiding something?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan allows one last moment of chests brushing and Anakin’s body heat before he steps away. Always has Anakin been a physical desert, yet even now that heat rings with the smoky suggestion of cauterized Tusken flesh. Clinging to this unsavory discovery, Obi-Wan pushes past Anakin. “Rest, Anakin. Come along.”

Frustrated footsteps start up again behind Obi-Wan.

Kark—he must—Obi-Wan cannot rest until he contacts Yoda.

Swallowing the taste of saliva, he pauses. He does not know if he can hide the truth from Yoda.


	3. and there's a flaw in my heart's design / for i keep trying to make you mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! the boys start to talk to each other, but as always it's not as openly illuminating as i'd like
> 
> also be mindful of the tag changes! ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title taken from you've haunted me all my life by death cab for cutie

They find a room that at first glance appears to be designated for rest a little way away from Mother Talzin’s crystal room. Obi-Wan wants to talk to Yoda half as much as he wants to sit Anakin down and address his behavior.

The door closes behind them. Anakin’s disgruntled rage oozes all over the room, tendrils of Anakin’s rage-anxiety reaching for Obi-Wan. It is effortless to prioritize Anakin’s agitation over his own.

Yet, it remains effortless too in this, the way it feels as though it has been years since he properly put Anakin in his place. And, while the muscle-memory remains, Anakin’s attitude gives him pause—tense and angry and unavoidably present. He hasn’t quite felt him this emotionally disrupted since Obi-Wan returned from the grave, hair shorn.

Anakin interrupts his own tense silence with typical exasperation. “How am I supposed to rest here, now?”

“We could meditate together,” Obi-Wan offers, half-jokingly.

They both expect Anakin to scoff, only he doesn’t—just stares at his master. “Would it help _you_ rest, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan passes his gaze along the curves of Anakin’s hips, the outlines of his limbs. Looks away to the room’s center: a bed, something not unlike a spa, except the bed is clearly meant for more than one being. The rest of the room is crisply sparse, one wall offering cabinets and a too-clean countertop.

He realizes it before Anakin does, that this room likely hosted ritualistic mating between Nightsisters and their selected mate. Residues of pleasure line the crevices between wall and ceiling like death stick smoke stains.

“Obi-Wan?”

“It hardly matters,” he replies, clearing his throat. “You know I can find rest anywhere.”

Anakin steps closer, tendrils of anger receding into something muted but no less focused; Obi-Wan fights the urge to step away—and therefore into the bedside. “Why won’t you take me seriously? Why won’t you let me take care of you?” Anakin’s voice is heavy with what his eyes will not unleash, though the sheen of unshed tears glints in the orange-green-blue light.

They are alone. And, they are not entirely alone. How many Nightsisters still linger, like wisps of smoke from candlelight?

Obi-Wan needs—he needs to contact the Jedi council. He needs to get out of this room, off of this planet, needs to meditate until his body and mind are famished and singular. He needs answers. He needs to reconcile the warrior, the friend, the old padawan beside him—his other half—with this man he has seen, this man who slaughters out of vengeance and bloodlust.

“I let you take care of me,” the protest finally emerges as he tilts his body away from Anakin.

Anakin shakes his head. “You let me humor you.”

_Is there a difference?_ “What does it mean to you, to take care of me? What exactly am I depriving you of? Control?”

“No!”

“What have I possibly done to suggest that I am unsatisfied?”

“I can’t tell whether you are satisfied or not, sometimes—and that’s the problem, Master! Why won’t you let me closer?”

Obi-Wan presses the bridge of his nose and turns to the side. The bond, the bond they have not broken, the bond that should have been severed alongside Anakin’s padawan braid, prickles with static.

The bond, and yet—the slaughter. Anakin has kept this from him for so long, even while Obi-Wan wore the symbol of their unison on his armor.

Against his better judgment, Obi-Wan lets out a sigh. Hates that he feels responsible for Anakin’s sorrow, his insistent focus on his master’s needs. Padawan devotion is one thing—Anakin Skywalker’s loyalty is another. “How much closer is there than this?”

The air hangs silent between them. Anakin reaches for his hand, and Obi-Wan lets him reach, touch.

_Never close enough,_ Anakin whispers across the bond. _I want to be in you, underneath your skin._ The impressions of hundreds of stray thoughts cascade into Obi-Wan, moments of Anakin’s longing blurring together.

Gone is the rage, traded in for mutually intensive affection.

Obi-Wan shivers, the onslaught of Anakin’s love and devotion speeding his heart and suffocating his throat. Anakin slowly, carefully, places his hands on Obi-Wan’s hips and turns him so that they are facing each other. _I want you in every way, Master. Let me take care of you, let me show you,[ankai’a](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1JU15jeoKpsvwcsVCoLzmgVjprqo3lLhB8D60Qcmxevg/edit#gid=1814431499)._

Anakin stops moving, letting his hands linger on Obi-Wan’s hips and regarding him carefully. Waiting for Obi-Wan’s response. His eyes are patient and his hands are kind.

His hands, the same hands that slaughtered, hold him with such care that he doesn’t need their force bond to feel Anakin’s love and respect. He waits—he lets this quiet silence fill the room. Ankai’a, Anakin said, and he’d meant it.

“We need to speak to Yoda,” Obi-Wan whispers. He reaches one hand up to Anakin’s jawline, and Anakin tilts his head into Obi-Wan’s warm palm.

“We do,” Anakin concedes. “We _could_ also wait until we’ve investigated more.”

Their voices are hushed, a reverence in their prolonged contact.

Anakin continues to maintain eye contact as he slowly lowers himself to the ground, kneeling in front of his former master. His hands continue to rest on Obi-Wan’s hips, allowing the suggestive nature of his movement to remain wordless.

And words, for all that Obi-Wan utilizes them, would only further complicate this moment. He doesn’t know what to say, and he thinks that maybe—maybe he likes how little silence can communicate. Silence makes black and white what rejecting, or accepting, Anakin’s advances entails.

The tender fire in Anakin’s features sways Obi-Wan into complete acceptance; the hands on his hips are sturdy, reassuring, and he selfishly needs to see his old padawan demonstrate his devotion, if not to Obi-Wan necessarily, then to tenderness itself.

So, Obi-Wan moves alongside Anakin, bending just enough that his hand remains on Anakin’s jaw, the other resting on his head, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles in his hair, skin.

Relief seeps into Anakin’s features, his hands gaining a surety that does not corrode gentleness. He carefully undresses Obi-Wan, leaving his chest covered and the rest unclothed, chilled just enough in the absence of shelter that goosebumps rise.

Anakin chuckles sweetly, kissing Obi-Wan’s thighs, mouth warm and sure. His eyes have not left Obi-Wan’s, save to look appreciatively at his master’s length. Even this Anakin manages to make endearingly awkward, with his quiet pauses and the slow kisses he presses against Obi-Wan’s skin, up his inner thighs to finally mouth against Obi-Wan’s cock.

Half-hard, Obi-Wan inhales sharply when Anakin’s mouth surrounds him. Anakin coaxes him to full hardness with his warm lips and careful tongue—it is easy to surrender himself to Anakin in this, too.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, keeping his eyes open. “Anakin,” he pleads, and Anakin, ever attentive, gives.

~

Anakin remembers well the grueling padawan exercises, Obi-Wan placed high and far away, calling for Anakin. “Come here, Anakin,” he cajoled—and Anakin would spend hours mastering his jumps, his spatial awareness. He resolved that no obstacle course would ever keep him away from his Master, and the Force thrummed in his veins as he called upon it time and time again, begging it to bring him to Obi-Wan’s side.

It was worth it all, the hours spent lunging and climbing and tugging the Force, just to arrive before Obi-Wan’s proud smile. His bright blue eyes warm as “Good job, Anakin” lit his soul ablaze.

Is it absurd to wish for those words again, after Anakin no longer has Obi-Wan in his mouth? It is absurd that he thinks about the end when it has only begun—hard or soft, Anakin wants to stay like this forever.

Obi-Wan will finish, and after—after, what comes after? Obi-Wan is silent and consenting now, but he cannot imagine his master turning his attention on Anakin like this.

It is the padawan who continues forward, starting far and below the master, leaping and climbing and running faster and faster; it is the master who stands and waits and watches, the master who, if he does feel phantom physical pain from the padawan’s efforts, remains unruffled and unhurried.

_Just come back to me_ , Anakin pleads privately. _Be here with me. Trust me._

It wasn’t real—Obi-Wan’s earlier pervasive revulsion, Anakin thinks as he, impossibly gently, scrapes the tips of his teeth against Obi-Wan’s length, relishes his master’s resulting moan. Obi-Wan wasn’t afraid of _him_ , his padawan.

If Obi-Wan doesn’t think Anakin is good, then Anakin isn’t good, isn’t anything.

~

It is perhaps one of the more difficult things Obi-Wan has done, biting his tongue after he finishes in Anakin’s mouth. Restricting himself from saying what he cannot—what he’s not even sure what he _would_ say. Affection and attraction and shame and pride and love vie for his attention, swirling like thunderous buildup before the inevitable tornado. He comforts himself by helping Anakin stand and cupping his face, wiping stray fluids.

His thumb brushes over Anakin’s lips. Anakin’s eyes gleam in the dim lighting, infinite in the love they clearly broadcast. One of Obi-Wan’s hands slips down to Anakin’s hips, and he steps closer. Anakin watches him carefully as Obi-Wan considers and re-considers stealing a kiss.

His hand dips below his hip, gently palming Anakin’s clothed erection. Obi-Wan’s heartbeat quickens and his breath is too thin and hot—the way Anakin’s body has responded to Obi-Wan’s is enough to make him want to give his old padawan everything he desires.

But Anakin does not want this, apparently. “Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, and the roughness of his speech has Obi-Wan swallowing. He shifts his hand away from Anakin’s erection, back to the safety of his hips.

“Anakin?”

“This was for you,” Anakin murmurs, his nose gently brushing Obi-Wan’s, “not me. I don’t need anything.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raise as he brushes his thumb once, twice, again over Anakin’s upper lip. “Don’t you?”

Anakin’s eyes flit from Obi-Wan’s to land, briefly, on his mouth. “Well… I wouldn’t mind a kiss, master. Obi-Wan.”

And, if Obi-Wan indulges him too easily, there are no witnesses. If Obi-Wan feels unbalanced, tasting himself in Anakin’s mouth as their tongues slide together, without having held Anakin in his mouth in return, there is the post-orgasm haze to offer him solace.

Anakin’s mouth moves along his almost too nicely—for all that Obi-Wan has dragged himself away from thinking about kissing him, he never got past imagining the relief in Anakin’s warmth—he had not thought to consider that even in this, Anakin is his other half.

Obi-Wan sucks Anakin’s tongue back into his mouth, running his teeth gently along it and is rewarded with a low moan. He wants to hear that sound again, wants to learn all of his sounds. Wants to know if Anakin noticed Obi-Wan borrowing the movement from earlier, when he lavished Obi-Wan.

(Of course, Anakin does, someone whispers in the back of his thoughts. What is there about Obi-Wan that Anakin doesn’t notice?)

The kiss comes to a slow end, Anakin smoothly pulling away to tenderly murmur _want to give you everything, everything_ and Obi-Wan opens his eyes and can only bring himself to say Anakin’s name.

“Please, master, please,” Anakin whispers. “Please don’t leave me.”

Obi-Wan inhales deeply, exhales well-worn lectures. “I’m here, Anakin. I’m here.”

Anakin notices the avoidance of lectures, his glassy eyes gleaming in unspoken gratitude. Obi-Wan hums softly as he tugs Anakin towards the bed in the room’s center. He pauses only to take off his upper robes, carefully setting them to the side. As a compromise, he grabs his pants, unwilling to be the only naked party, yet equally unwilling to handle a naked Anakin uninterested in continued sexual contact.

“We must rest,” Obi-Wan murmurs as Anakin follows him onto the bed and into his warm arms.

Here, Anakin is at his most docile; his head rests on Obi-Wan’s chest, his body curving into Obi-Wan’s, warm and insistent. Obi-Wan breathes carefully and avoids any movement that would disrupt the otherwise still room.

Obi-Wan stares at the smooth ceiling. Whatever he witnessed via Mother Talzin’s orb took place a few years prior, just before the war—during Anakin’s attempt at keeping Padme safe. The attack—Obi-Wan’s glimpse held much of Anakin’s grief and rage. It felt… it felt similar to watching Qui-Gon die, the fear, anger and desperation fueling his fluid leap, slaughter of Darth Maul.

Obi-Wan spent years processing those moments, and through this processing found himself a better man, a better Jedi.

He wants to believe that Anakin has done the same. Knows that Anakin brushes with darkness, as they all do, and that he has returned to the light time and time again. Knows that Anakin has never failed him before, and that Anakin applies his teachings, however mutated.

Still, Yoda must be updated on the situation. Obi-Wan misses the comfort of their conversations and the instinctual relief in vocalizing his concerns.

Anakin clears his throat. “You’re thinking loud.” The palm of his right hand is flat on Obi-Wan’s chest, warm as his thumb draws lazy circles.

Obi-Wan’s arm shifts beneath Anakin, his hand absentmindedly playing with Anakin’s curls. “There is a reason Mother Talzin wanted us here, and she seems keen on keeping us planetside until she’s satisfied. What does she want us to find?”

Anakin remains silent a moment too long. “Obi-Wan, what did you see earlier?”

“She’s fixated on you—if she thinks Palpatine is a Sith lord, she may be trying to separate you from his influence.”

Anakin inhales and exhales with a slow forcefulness that does not calm either Jedi. “So, what she showed you, it was about me, wasn’t it?”

“Anakin… She mentioned dreams, your nightmares.”

Anakin goes stiff-still in his arms, and raw terror emanates from him. “So, they’re true?”

Obi-Wan clears his throat. “No,” he softly rebukes. “She said that ‘A second set of eyes may muddy the waters, but two may stumble farther along than one.’”

“What else did she show you?”

Obi-Wan’s heart stutters. Considers obfuscating—considers offering an opening for confessing. “Anakin, what happened on Tatooine, before the war?”

Anakin is silent for so long that Obi-Wan thinks he will not answer. Obi-Wan closes his eyes right as Anakin’s voice interrupts—“My mother died.”

Obi-Wan keeps his eyes shut. “Dear one, I’m so sorry.”

Anakin exhales and the tension in his body ripples, shifting without fully exiting. “I couldn’t save her. She’s dead, and I couldn’t do anything.”

_Death comes and it’s insidious_ , he wants to say. _It’s alright, I understand_ —but none of those words leave his private thoughts. There is nothing he can say, nothing he can offer without more thought. As much as he wants more information, he knows that it is best to not press Anakin. They need to work together on Dathomir. Anakin will be explosive if Obi-Wan presses; they cannot risk additional emotional turmoil, especially on a planet so connected to the Dark side.

He opens his eyes, takes a moment to reacquaint himself with his surroundings.

His… Nightsister sex-room surroundings.

Has Anakin noticed? No, he seems otherwise content in Obi-Wan’s arms, save his previous tension. He can’t imagine Anakin not reacting to a sex setting such as this, devoid of love and, likely, agency.

Obi-Wan realizes he hasn’t responded and clears his throat. “Death has a habit of making one feel powerless.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything, but his tension melts a little more. He doesn’t feel entirely shut away from Obi-Wan, though he knows it would be foolish to assume that Anakin has been fully consoled.

First, Talzin upsets Anakin by telling them her perspective, then she does so by revealing a secret Anakin has kept from the man who trained, taught, encouraged him. They had grown alongside each other, hadn’t they? And now death kept them from full reconciliation. Still—Talzin appears focused on de-stabilizing Anakin, keeping him away from whatever is happening on Coruscant.

Obi-Wan should’ve been more vigilant. If upsetting Anakin is her goal, he’s done a fine job helping her. They are at her mercy, here, and for all Obi-Wan knew, finding themselves in this room was no accident.

(It would explain Anakin’s amorousness. It would explain why his old padawan sought Obi-Wan in such a way he never did before. A cold dread seeps into his bones. Mother Talzin must know, then, of his own weakness.)

“Don’t think I’m not still upset over the Hardeen incident.”

Obi-Wan sits up, and Anakin reluctantly copies him. “Anakin, I…”

Anakin shakes his head. “I know why you did it. You’re lucky I know for a fact now that I prefer you alive, even like this, to being dead.”

“It was not fair to put you in that position.”

Anakin laughs wetly, and Obi-Wan turns to him, places his hand on Anakin’s cheek and wipes away a stray tear. “Caring about you has never been entirely fair.”

“At the time, it seemed like a necessary sacrifice. Feeling you grieve, sensing your despair and your rage—letting you think I was dead was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m not sure I would do it again given the chance.”

Anakin smiles but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess I’ll settle for that.”

“Anakin. It is not helpful to your growth as a Jedi that I want to protect and comfort you as much as I do. I do what I must, but do not think that it is easy.” _I wanted to reach for you every day,_ he silently admits across their bond.

Anakin isn’t looking at him, but he hasn’t pulled away. “I don’t want you hurt,” he admits, whisper-soft. “You can’t die.”

In the middle of a war, they are both aware of the admission’s absurdity. Yet, neither needs to address this caveat—admitting the current wartime suggests a post-war, a time where the admission will not be completely absurd.

“We are a Team, two halves of a whole,” Obi-Wan reminds, tapping the circle on his armor with his free hand, the other still carefully holding Anakin’s face. “There is no other Jedi, no other man, I would want to fight by my side.”

Anakin looks at the insignia, then looks away. “We need our rest, remember?” Before Obi-Wan can respond, Anakin asks “may I hold you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan can only nod, mouth dry. Yes, it must be the remnants of Nightsister magiks in this room making Anakin act on his defensiveness, making Anakin reach where once he would only hover awkwardly, constantly re-thinking his reach.

Carefully, they re-arrange themselves. Anakin wraps himself around Obi-Wan, and even if this is influenced by magiks, Anakin’s Force signature feels sincere, clear-crisp with intent. Anakin hasn’t been this warm with him since he returned from the grave with the wrong face.

He will allow himself this comfort, and no more.

~

Anakin is awake in Obi-Wan’s arms. Sated in a way he hadn’t anticipated, preoccupied with the lingering taste of Obi-Wan on his tongue.

For now, they are at rest. Obi-Wan is sleeping at last—Anakin sends a grateful prayer into the Force. Closes his eyes and wades into the quiet darkness, sensing Obi-Wan’s watchful presence reaching for him. Considers refusing him, but only for a moment.

Anakin is not good, and he will make peace with that, or he will die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ankai'a: dai bendu for heartsong, soulmate


End file.
